Celebrity crushes

So I have a thing for Pacey.

Ok, ok.

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But Joshua Jackson's smoldering Peter Bishop makes me melt. The chemistry between his character and Anna Torv's Olivia is intense. The fierce protectiveness he has towards her, the tenderness. It makes me ache. After each episode, I'm left wanting more. More emotion, more development. The not-quite unrequited-ness of it tears at me. I dream about it.

Which probably isn't a healthy thing. It's an addiction, drawing me into the program, giving birth to the characters, bringing them to life all around me. ...But I'm going with it.

This crush is different from the lust I have towards Johnny Depp. Yes, it's cliche, but Captain Jack Sparrow makes me swoon. It's not often I am overwhelmed with the urge to lick someone. And that spark flickers in all of his character portrayals, no matter how oddball.

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I told hubby last year if he dressed as Jack Sparrow for Halloween, I would toss the boys and the candy out in the street and we would cancel trick-or-treating. He was tempted, I'm sure. But maintains that he's not going to stoop to that level. Ever. And by that he means that the "Sexy Pirate" costume is everywhere and overrated. And so he won't. But I can dream. And come on - he's already got the hair going for him! Add in that drawling never-may-care accent and I'll puddle right then and there. BTW, that offer still stands, honey.

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Jeff Goldblum. Now that's one you probably wouldn't expect. But he's got that same fierceness, a dark magnetism beneath the surface, and I'm captivated.

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Benjamin Bratt. *drool* I was a wavering fan of Private Practice until this season... then he joined the cast. He's been on my radar for years. And now he's front and centre. Makes me happy. And a bit weirded out because sometimes he reminds me of my dad, who is of French-Acadian decent, dark toned and oft mustachioed. (And who is a reader of this blog - let's all say HI to Rainy's dad!)

I'm trending, I know. Tall, dark and ruggedly handsome. With layers and often severe character flaws. But it's the devotion, the near worship of their female counterparts, that makes me quiver. The rawness that seeps out. Makes me feel like I'm right there, that it's all for me.

Give all those writers and directors a hand. They have hit their target market. Well done. And thank you. More, please. Me thinks I watch faaaaaar to much television.

But now, I'll go cuddle up with this guy - my best and lasting trend.

*mwa*

Oh for the love of penises. Peni?

Another darling collection of the words out of my mouth over the last couple of weeks. 


1. Get the hose out of your mouth.

2. The first boy asleep will get a surprise!

3. Elliot: No. You have choices too, mama. Know what your choices are? I can not chose one of your choices or I can stay home. You can chose.
Elliot uses dazzling logic in an attempt to get out of going to school.

4. I see two boys who won't be getting any cake. Keep it up - so I can eat yours.

5. Feet do not go on penises.

6. No dinos on your penis!

7. No toys on your penis!

8. Put your penis back in the toilet.

9. I can't read through that balloon.

10. If you don't stop hitting me with that balloon, I will take it away and pop it.

11. Rarrrrrrrr. Nipplecakes!

Dark and twisty

Please be gentle on yourself while reading. This entry isn't light or fluffy or funny. 

Nine years ago today at lunch time I sat with a group of girls from my college class talking about the craziness we'd gotten up to just after high school. The risque trips to Cuba. The frat parties.  The strangers. The drinking. How we were all so damn lucky nothing terrible happened. How it was all so much fun.  I remember that I didn't have any stories to share. I remember vividly feeling goody-goody, a wall flower, socially awkward. But I felt too old, at the tender age of 23, to go wild, to create my own stories. It wasn't then - and isn't now - in my personality.

Nine years ago tonight I had finished my shift earlier than expected at the German restaurant where I waitressed and was excitedly waiting for my friend from the city to come pick me up so we could go drinking. I was back in my hometown. Hubby and I had been dating for 10 months and he was still up in the city while I'd returned home to go back to school.

Nine years ago in a few hours from now, we met up with a friend of a friend at her house, had a few drinks and called a cab to take us to one of the hottest new bars in town. It was attached to the main hotel. It was swanky, small town style. Really, the only other option for a bar scene was a creepy little dive where your feet stuck to the floor and you'd always end up dancing next to someone's mother. The cab took us to the gas station first so I could buy some cigarettes. Du Maurier's Aventi Light. I haven't smoked since.

Nine years and a bit longer from now, a group of girls descended on the bar, dancing and drinking and having a good time. Shakira's "Whenever Wherever" struck a chord with us and we took the dance floor hostage. Cortez, in town for a basketball tournament,  introduced himself to us and inserted himself into the middle of our group, but focused on me. Drunk Rainy was completely and totally entranced by his name. We danced to Enrique Iglesias' Hero, dramatically swinging ourselves around the room.

Nine years and 5 hours from now, in trying to retrieve another friend of a friend who'd gone off in a van full of strange guys - Cortez included - a police officer drove several giggling, intoxicated girls to another hotel where we smuggled ourselves up to a room full of more basketball players. We actually beat the van-load back, as they stopped for pizza. Before they made it back, the hotel came knocking on the door with a reprimand to drop the noise level. We moved across the hall.

Nine years and almost 6 hours ago, I stood in the doorway of a crowded room with two other girls I had just met and a roomful of guys. Wanting to leave, but running through my options, I figured I'd better bluff my way through. I got myself in, I'd figure out how to get out. I'm reminded of a line in a Margaret Atwood novel, about how when you find yourself in a situation you don't know how or want to handle, you best pretend you planned to be there so no one catches on.

Nine years and 6 hours ago more drinks were mixed. Several of us passed out. And none of us woke up alone.

Nine years ago, my life fell down. Nine years ago, I couldn't call it rape. Because rape - that harsh, stinging word, like a knife being unsheathed - meant a stranger leaping out and dragging a helpless victim into a dark alley. Because rape left horrible, visible markings on the body. It took years of therapy and the support of my hubby, friends and family and so many other survivors I stumbled upon to name what had happened. I didn't ask for it. I didn't go looking for it. I didn't consent. It wasn't the stuff of dark alleys, but it was real. It was sneaky and somehow felt worse. Even still, I often have a hard time sharing the story without adding the qualifier that it wasn't violent.

I will forever love my sister, who came with me to the police station after I went to the doctor and before I was sent to the hospital. The officer we spoke with was on the verge of retiring. He had a daughter who ran with a good crowd. And who stayed out of trouble. He told me, condescendingly, "When you’ve been drinking, you become uninhibited and do things you wouldn’t normally do.” My little sister looked him dead in the eye and told him I was a very conservative person and asked if we could speak to someone else who had more experience in this area. It went nowhere, but I felt empowered for trying.

I have been drastically shaped and altered by my experiences 9 years ago. It's true that tragedy can make you stronger. If it doesn't kill you first. And it could have easily gone either way there for a while. But this is the second year in a row this date hasn't totally twigged me. It's never going to be forgotten - I can't imagine a time when the date will slide past, forgotten. But I can stare it in the eye now. I don't have to carry it anymore.

I look at my boys and know I've got a daunting task ahead of me. Making sure they know to respect and cherish women. Figuring out how to best shape their little lives so that they're the good guys. The ones offering and providing support, encouragement, trust. Watching them help each other warms my heart.

It's a rocky road, this recovery thing. But I've got the worst of it behind me. I know I do.

Rainyday dark thoughts

I was raped nearly 9 years ago. It took several years before I could say I'd worked through the aftermath and felt I could call myself a survivor. It's been a struggle. And it's not done - little reminders crop up, unexpected. Little triggers come at me out of the blue.

Like the mornings when Elliot crawls into bed with me and, eventually, puts his hands on my stomach, under my shirt. I overreact every. single. time. Push him off the bed, yell at him, jump out of bed and run from the room, slap his hands away... I've done all of those, and more. And he looks at me, eyes full of hurt and whispers that he just wanted to tickle me.

It's not his fault. This is my issue.

There are times I hear myself yelling at the boys to just STOP TOUCHING ME. Or to GET OFF OF ME. I can't sit down anywhere without one - if not both - of them climbing all over me, demanding hugs or "uppy". They want to touch me, pat me, rub my arms and sometimes it can make my skin crawl. Now this could very well be an overblown reaction to the complete lack of personal space I have these days, or it could have something to do with what happened 8 years ago. Whatever the case, I really need to deal with it an move on. Again.

Somedays I just don't want to have to struggle through anymore. I just want to be me; depressed, whiny, lazy and alone. That sounds like heaven. Then I look at the boys and see how lucky I am. Even though they have no concept of boundaries, even though they grind their little elbows and knees into me while I'm trying to read or sleep,  even when they're jumping on my head or back when I try to do yoga, they are innocent and full of wonder. They have unconditional love and affection.

I know I don't take enough time to slow down, to just be with them, watching them learn and explore. I know I should. These magical little creatures are growing up way to fast. And dear hubs and I have to teach them to be good people. It's a daunting task that gives me more than just a bit of worry. We're shaping lives here and I feel I'm doing a crappy-ass job of it. When Elliot jumps on his brother, demanding a hug or a toy and Felix says no but Elliot goes ahead anyway, I catch my breath, because in a second, I'll be yelling at him to LISTEN WHEN SOMEONE SAYS NO. Life is fierce, and it shapes you.

...And those are the thoughts swirling around in my head this rainy morning.

Two decades ago today...

And things in my blog world take a turn towards the realm of 'to much information'.... enjoy!


I got my first period! It was a wintery day, a Friday. I had spent my afternoon after school sledding down the neighbours huge hill. For some reason, I wasn't wearing underwear, but I did have on my favourite pair of jeans. When I went to the bathroom I thought I'd hurt myself, but quickly realized what it was. My mom had told me all about periods when I was 8, since on my dad's side of the family, many of the girls got theirs around 9 years old. She had also told me she hoped I was at least 12 when it happened for me. As it turned out, I was 1 month shy of 12. I got changed and told my mom, expecting it to be like an after-school special with giggling and celebration. I was a woman!

I remember being in the kitchen that night after supper and felt a bit crampy. It felt better when I placed my hand on my low belly and rubbed a bit. Mom saw and said I shouldn't do that around people, because others would know what it meant and that my period was a private thing.

A girl from my (grade 6) class called me that night, she wanted to ask about homework or something. I was so excited that I told her. Afterwards, I felt incredibly stupid - she wasn't even one of my friends, I didn't really like her, either. On Monday, I told her I was mistaken and she said "Well, I guess that means it will happen soon!" She was jealous, all the same, as she hadn't started hers yet.

I didn't get another period for a couple of months, but when the next one came, it hit with a vengeance. They got steadily worse. My first day of grade 7, I leaked through my clothes and had to wait in the nurses office for mom to bring me more clothes. This was a regular occurrence for me all through junior high. I would get cramping so badly that I would throw up. Mom always told me to stop being so dramatic.  I remember once wiping away a clot so thick and long and ropey - like the thick green slime that forms on stagnant ponds -  that I started to whimper, sure I could feel it pulling out of me, sure I was going to go into shock, sure I was about to die.

Things finally settled down when I went on the pill in high school. I think I was in grade 11? (Went on it because of my horrendous periods, not for birth control!) I came off them after a few months, hoping that things would be better. But no, my first period hit HARD and I was on an overnight field trip to the city (where I now live, but 3 hours from my home then) with my drama class. I sent my friend's mom, who was a chaperon, out to fill a new prescription for a special painkiller while I whimpered in a bed in the dorm room where our group was staying. The prescription came with the warning that if I started vomiting anything that looked like coffee grounds, to get myself to the ER asap. Lovely. I was 17. I went back on the pill soon afterwards. Only coming off after getting married in 2005 at the ripe old age of 26.

...Oh 'aunt flo', what a long and tumultuous relationship we have.Every month, I swear you're not going to make an appearance, and every month you pop out and wallop me. Fun times!

The girls hurt

Yep. Gonna talk about my boobs again. It's been a while. I've weaned since my last boob saga. I've started wearing bras that supposedly fit - even went in for a fitting in a posh lingerie store and bought a fancy and pricey bra. But they hurt. They feel heavy and bruised. Pretty much constantly, but yes, more so for about a week once a month.

Is my bra the wrong size? Have I put on so much weight that they can no longer support themselves? Is this the start of that middle-aged boobs-slide-to-your-belly-button thing? (And if so, hellllls no! I can't be middle aged at almost 32, can I?)

I'm not pregnant. I am having hormonal weirdness and have switched temporarily to a new birth control pill, so maybe that's the culprit? Or maybe Jay - or better yet, one of the boys - is boob-punching me while I sleep. Probably Felix, He's obsessed. I got in the tub with him the other night and the second he saw me he reached out and said "Touch your nipples?" I said no and then he cried, saying "Me like your nipples!" He's very tactile, into sensations. Yes, he's a boy, but he seems to be unusually fond of his penis.

Even better than sore boobs is the sharp poke I'm getting into the side of ol' righty as the stitching gave up it's hold over the underwire. Luckily, this isn't on my pricey bra (which actually hurts, even though it's supposedly my size. Shhhh. Must convince myself it was money well spent.) But it is a pretty Victoria's secret one. I guess it's time to get more. I suppose there are worse ways to spend my time.

How are your girls or the girls in your life? Do they hurt? Are they as perky as you always wanted them to be? Let's ring in 2011 talking about unmentionables.

Nip check, revisited

So. The pain got better after going on a 2 week course of anti-fungal medication, paired with the most awesome All Purpose Nipple Ointment by Dr. Jack Newman. But the pain came back within 5 days of finishing the meds. So I convinced my doctor to put me back on them. I'm a week in. the nipple pain is improving.

BUT NOW I HAVE MASTITIS!!!!!

I have been terrified of mastitis for the past 3.5 years. I do tend to get blocked ducts but thankfully they've never gone beyond a simple (yet painful) blockage.

Oh sweet jeebus, this is painful. it started last night. I see my doctor in a few hours to get some antibiotics, hopefully. At least the fever broke and the puking stopped. That's something to celebrate, I guess.

Nip check

Ok, time for a nip update! (YAY!)

Still haven't seen my doctor. Things got a bit better, but now they're getting painful again. And it's a different pain. A deeper pain. One that makes me think that yeast is at work here. So, the plan is to see my dr Tuesday morning. (I can wait 3 more days, right?) and get a prescription for diflucan, an antifungal, as well as for the All Purpose Nipple Ointment. Plus, I'll pick up some Gentian Violet. Between those 3 things, and the probiotic and garlic supplements I'm taking along with not eating any sugar (you hear me, missy - NOT eating sugar) and things should be back under control within a few weeks. The pain should be cleared up within a week, the yeast will take a bit longer to be beaten into submission.


Now my nips have been discussed, lets move on to a funner subject. Christmas! We had a good one. The boys were excited - Elliot had. to. play. with. each. gift. after. it. was. unwrapped. And Felix wasn't really interested in unwrapping, but he would get fixated on certain gifts for 10-15 minutes (like a little whisk!) So things went rather slow.

Decorating, 2 weeks before Santa came

Christmas morning

His very own whisk!

D-E-V-O-N.... that says Elliot!!!!!! He knows how to spell his name, but when presents are involved, book-learnin' goes out the window!

In which I talk about my nipples*

*Forewarned is forearmed, right?


Right?






Ok.....





It hurts so badly when I nurse.

Felix (currently 16 months) started cutting molars back in September, and shortly afterwards nursing started to get painful. I just assumed it was due to his highly increased nursing frequency and a clenched latch. I tried to ignore it, figuring it would go away once my body adjusted to the increase in nursing or when he cut the teeth or or or or... but the pain got worse and worse.

I started wondering about yeast, but I don't see any sign of thrush in Felix's mouth. For the past month, I haven't had any sugars - I expected that if the pain were yeast related, it would have started to dissipate once I stopped all sugars/yeast/etc from my diet. But yeast seems to be a big winner when I talk with my mama friends about the pain I'm experiencing. The fact that the pain seems to be more limited to my nipples rather than within the breast tells me it's latch related, not yeast. Or maybe it started as yeast and then turned extra nasty. Or the bad latch caused cracking which let in the yeast. Or it could be both. Or something else. Or a mysterious and random assortment of 9865413248624 different things and the kitchen sink.

I switched birth control pills (from Micronor to Alesse) in early October, so perhaps the different hormones are also contributing to whatever is causing the pain. (Pregnancy did cross my mind, but all the tests I've taken have been negative. Phew!) I understand the pill could have affected my milk supply, causing him to work hard to get nourishment, so that's another possible factor. I had problems with Raynaud's Syndrome after Elliot was born 3 years ago, but didn't have it with Felix. The pain feels similar, but is longer lasting. And sharper.

I've been using an organic Nipple Butter by Earth Mama Angel Baby for the last few days and I can see a small difference for the better, I *think* - the calloused looking spots on my nips have softened and started to come off. BUT it's leaving cracks and bleeding (oh joy!) - not sure if that's being uncovered by or created by the sloughing off of the hard skin. I'm still experiencing a lot of sensitivity - clothing rubbing on me is painful, but the pain upon nursing is *slightly* improved. It's not the same toe-curling-glass-being-shoved-into-me sensation as before.

I emailed Dr. Jack Newman, breastfeeding guru, and he gave me a bit of advice, but nothing that seemed really pertinent to my situation. I initially contacted him because all research I've done says his All Purpose Nipple Ointment is the best thing ever for sore nipples, whether the problem is yeast related or not. I went to the compounding pharmacy near me and they were familiar with the ointment but said I needed a prescription. Instead of schlepping the kids with me to the doctor, someone suggested I email Dr. Newman for the prescription. He sent it to me (lightening fast, I might add!) but cautioned that it probably would be useless since he's not licensed to practice here. But he suggested I get my doctor to co-sign the prescription to save time. So that's my next plan of attack. But at this point, it looks like I won't be able to get an appointment with my doctor until, hmmmm, maybe this weekend?? I'll have to call again tomorrow.

I've found that Felix has a better (ie: deeper) latch when he's hungry vs comfort nursing. I've played with different positions and latches but never get relief the same way twice. Over the last few nights, I've stopped going to him for night time feeds - Jay has been spending the night in Felix's room. So I'm getting a good 10 hour stretch in which I can heal (and sleep - who'da thunk it?!) We nurse (both sides) in the morning and before bed, and then he comfort/snack nurses on one side before his nap and then again in the late afternoon. Nursing 4x per day is better than the 8+ we were doing recently, and it's giving me relief. Just not fast enough.

Since the skin is currently broken & bleeding & stinging, I'm sure that if a yeast infection isn't the cause, that a bacterial infection is now (or soon to be) an issue. What fun! Until I get that ointment, I'm going to continue with the Nipple Butter I have, expressed milk and lots of air time... and work on deeper latches, I guess. I've contacted my local La Leche League leaders and we're working though some ideas, too.

ETA 12/17/09: this morning I pumped instead of nursing on the worst side, and behold - it didn't hurt!!!! Now if only pumping were as quick & brainless as nursing.

So, all in all, this is a big whiny post about my poor nipples. Aren't you glad you found it?! Maybe I should complain about something more global... like, um... I don't know. I don't keep up with current events. I should do that, too. Something else to put away for a RainyDay.